


Moments in Time, Lines in a Song

by Haywire_Hakaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character-building exercises, Child Abuse, Other, Religious Abuse, World-building exercises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire_Hakaze/pseuds/Haywire_Hakaze
Summary: A collection of short stories exploring the past of Nalani Ossifriga, a child wishing to escape her horrible home town and maybe find the freedom to be herself as she ventures out into the world on her own. Nalani is a child gifted with musical talent, and she does her best to chronicle her journey through song.(Expect song parodies sprinkled into a fair number of the chapters.)





	1. Nalani

**Author's Note:**

> Butchered parody comes from the song "My Song" by Alessia Cara

The seaside city of Vundu Port was a lovely place, and even though it was one of the smaller port locales on the continent of Tsuni, it was one of the most popular. Just a day's travel north of Vundu Port was a fertile land rich with pigmented minerals that were perfect for dying. The lands were treacherous, however; due to how bogged down with moisture the lands were, landslides were a common thing and those who ventured into the wetlands quickly found their feet squelching and sinking into thick pockets of wet clay. It had long become known as Mudsucker Swamp for how many lives it claimed by swallowing up any travelers in its domain. Only the local Joud of Vundu Port were capable of weathering the dangers, as the avian people were well-equipped to handle the hazards of the land. With their wide-spread taloned feet and hollow bones, they could easily distribute the slight weight of their bodies over the hungry ground and stay above the muck. Their grand, sturdy wings didn't give them the power of long-distance flight, but if the earth began to move beneath them they could very easily push off and glide to more stable terrain. As such, they were able to harvest the clay as well as any colorful insects, roots, or stones that to process into pigment.

Thus, Vundu Port was always a bustling little town. It thrived on trade for ceramics and colorful fabrics, hand-woven by the locals. It was a melting pot of culture on the surface, accepting travelers and their money and customs. Their own culture, however, was self-contained. Education, religion, and societal norms were held tightly onto, in a drastic effort to lose sight of personal identity.

Music was a cornerstone of Vundu Port's culture, especially to the Joud. Most of their history and a great deal of fundamental life lessons were passed down in that manner of oral tradition. Parents would often sing tales of caution about the wildlife in Mudsucker Swamp or pass along messages of warning when it came to strangers.

The Joud of Vundu Port loved to sing, but none adored it more than Nalani Ossifriga. The child would oft be caught humming gentle melodies as she flitted about the town, happy in her own little world. She would make up little ditties when she was younger that matched her mood, and the older she became the more in-tune with her personality they became. For Nalani, singing was the utmost expression of self. She would run a round with the other children and come up with songs about the games they played, the frogs they caught, and the sights they saw.

More than anything, though, Nalani loved to sing for her parents. She would serenade her mother as she sat with her pestle and mortar, and she would pluck melodies from stringed instruments with nimble fingers as her father performed his duties around the house. Whenever she regaled them with her stories they would call her their little dove and ruffle up her dark chestnut hair, puffing it up into a crest and leaving her with a broad grin on her face. They would caution her occasionally that she shouldn't exaggerate so much, or to stick to songs that rang true instead of hailing from her imagination, but at those times the girl would stare at them with confusion upon her narrow face. She would wrinkle up her beak-like nose and profess to only sing what came naturally to her. There were times she would weave dark tales and when she finished her father would reprimand her, though she couldn't fathom just what for.

One night Nalani came home from frog-catching with the village children, humming a jaunty little tune. She washed her little hands and settled down to chop, skin, and clean her catch as part of the family's meal, and as she worked she began to sing under her breath, weaving a long and sordid tale about one of the young maidens in the village. The lyrics told how the maid murdered every member of her family one by one, starting with her father and working to each relative one by one from oldest to youngest. The tale was gruesome but regaled in a somewhat dreamy, cheerful manner.

The lyrics were worrisome enough, and that she couldn't recall ever singing it when confronted about it was just as unsettling. However, it was when her tall tale came to fruition did her parents find true horror in their daughter's singing.

At first her parents were at a loss. Perhaps it had been something Nalani overheard and didn't think much of, simply parroting it back without thought as she allowed her mind to wander. Yet the singing continued, varying from terrible topics to inane, and approximately half of her stories were met with truth under the light of day.

Her father began to distance himself, terrified that she may not be reciting current events but somehow forcing them to happen with her voice. Being with his child was a new danger, and he didn't wish to fall under her thrall.

It wasn't until her mother discovered a thick, scaly growth upon Nalani's chest a short time past her eighth birthday that she became convinced of her daughter's wickedness as well. She dragged her child to the local clergy for inspection and to gain guidance.

Upon inspection of the new growth and consideration of the circumstances, they deemed Nalani had been left with a Mark of impropriety for her persistent tall tales. The fact that some of the details in her stories eventually came true was alarming, and a dark presence surely had to have latched upon the girl. The Mark was a warning from the God of life and death, The Gatekeeper, and it was declared that her penchant for dramatics could not be encouraged.

The first attempt to remove the scaly protrusion was a mixture of Healing Magic and faith-based alchemy. Noxious medicines made from reagents were either ingested or placed upon the affected area, and practitioners of the Church of The Giver worked healing magic over Nalani’s body. When those attempts failed she was kept in what was dubbed by the locals as a purification room; thick steam filled the chamber, stifling the air and making it hot and difficult to breathe. She was left there for hours at a time, the practitioners believing the ritual would bleed the toxic blight from her body with enough penance.

Nalani lost track of the time she remained there, trapped inside the windowless room and unable to see daylight. The passage of time could only be marked by hunger and extreme thirst, which weren't helpful measurements in the least. She delved into unconsciousness whenever the air grew too thick and her head grew heavy, and when she woke her head would pound enough to threaten splitting.

Still, Nalani sang. It was her only source of comfort in isolation, despite all the hardships it brought her. As she lay sobbing on the bed, dehydrated and aching, her body refused to proffer any tears.  
“Croonin' to find my peace in solitude  
My world's colorful, though I embrace my flaws in bein' mortal  
My blacks and whites, and sometimes the grays that stay for days  
The in-between times, the meantimes, my empty spots of mem'ry  
Play, rest, repeat, read exactly what is written on the sheet  
'Don't deviate,' they say  
But I will play what comes to me  
Whether by thought or by divine, create a symphony inside.”  
Nalani was left to ponder her situation and despair, clinging to sweat-soaked linens. She called out to the Gods, crying, begging to be released from the torment brought upon her in their name. She wanted an explanation. What had she done to cause their ire? Why must she languish and waste away? What possible way could she earn redemption for a crime she wasn't aware of committing in their eyes?

“In my time here, I don't wanna be denounced and reviled  
Oh, now they say I'm cursed, I'm reviled  
Cause I cause fear and I can't blend in  
But you can't replace me and you cannot erase me  
And these songs will live on beyond time.”

When she was on the brink of death, her body frail and teetering under its own weight, Nalani was finally released from the cleansing. The clergy inspected her afterward, and to their consternation they realized the ritual yielded no results. The Mark remained, a cancerous gray blot on the child's pale skin. The curse placed upon her was too strong for external efforts alone. Nalani herself would need to do a fair amount of work in order to be free once more.

How could a mere child properly atone for sins and be free of the blight?

The news of her situation spread throughout Vundu Port through terse whispers and unkind words, and when Nalani returned to the streets she was unwelcome around her peers. The other children taunted her, plagued by the prejudice and fear taught to them by their parents. She ostracized by the church and shunned by her peers, emotionally and socially left adrift. No comfort remained to be found in the streets of her beloved home-town.

Despite her hardships, somehow she persevered. Her church may have failed her. Her family might have betrayed her trust. But beneath it all, she had to trust in herself and the music swelling in her heart. One day, with enough faith and dedication, she would regain all she lost. One day, she would be free to let her heart soar.

“But I'll spend my life penning my songs, my songs  
And the verses I hear will speak through me  
Good girls don't make history  
So I may never be what you assume  
These lyrics come and they intrude  
In all your texts, can't find what makes me hexed  
Oh, and maybe you will learn this when I'm gone  
These songs still carry on.”


	2. Alexander

"Get that cargo stored and, I swear by the Divines, if you leave the water behind because ‘we've got more than enough rum' you’ll be _swimming_ up Serpent's Pass to the next destination!" Alexander shouts over the din of the harbor, the smell of salt stinging his nose as he closes his eyes. The Orc’s rough skin is a soft blue, like cobalt, the rough edges shimmering softly like amethyst in the bright sunlight, but it’s hard to tell the exact hue under the layer of caked-on salt that clings to his hide. He rubs his jaw, debating if he should give it a good sanding down before they set sail. 

This season had been good: two confirmed kills, three unconfirmed (but hopefully so) at the bottom of the pass. The hard part had been managing to haul not one, but two leviathan corpses down the pass, but the profit margins from selling both well made up for the loss of ammunition and man power. The Captain opened his eyes, surveying the crew as they swarmed the Sea Slater, repairing large gashes to the ship’s sides as well as stowing the newest stores and attempting to train the newest recruits who had signed on at port. Finding individuals willing to join the Fisherman’s Guild for the rates they were offering wasn’t hard. Finding GOOD recruits on the other hand….

The Captain’s ear caught the sound of a splash before the alarm ever went up, a sound any good seafarer learns to differentiate within seconds. “MAN OVERBOARD” came the call from near the splash. The Captain had enough time to move towards the edge of the deck where he was standing in time to see not one, but two of his crew dive overboard, ropes in hand. A human crewman, a young lass, was the first to surface with a young Joud Cabin Boy strewn over her shoulder. Working like a well-oiled machine the second individual, a Fomori lad, worked to ensure the rescue line wasn’t tangled as the lass to get the poor, disoriented cabin boy secured.

The Captain could see everything from his perch and could tell that the crew had everything well in hand. All hands were so focused on the events going on over Starboard, they failed to notice a flutter of movement coming from Port. Before he could catch more than a glimpse, one of the large doors to below-deck slipped shut. It had been subtle, a flash of brown feathers darting across the corner of his eye, but it was unmistakable, and the fact they moved below so quickly meant it could be only one thing.

This wouldn’t be the first stowaway to hop on his ship to escape port. Sometimes it’d be a criminal, but he hadn’t seen any postings of note when they made landfall so he didn’t feel the need to route them out from below deck. They were too far from his native lands for them to be the typical Orcish refugee trying to escape from the Matriarchy without the proper paperwork, either. He could understand that though, if they were; he was fortunate that his paperwork lent him to the Fisherman’s Guild on a ‘Semi-Permanent basis’, which allowed him to sail as he saw fit without having to file and refile paperwork to the Queen every time he left port. “Jenkins!” the Captain called, seeing the man trying to nap inside a coil of rope... again.

“Yes Cap?” he asks, hopping up and pretending to look busy, causing the Captain to shake his head. 

“Find and tell the Purser to lay in extra rations, got an ache in me left hand says we may need it.” Jenkins opened his mouth to say something but his eye drifted to the stump of the Captain’s left arm and stopped, mouth open before snapping his teeth shut. It only took him a moment before he saluted, turned on his heel and jogged off to find the Purser, figuring the sooner he got that done, the sooner he could disappear below deck and get some sleep after all of the excitement.

**Author's Note:**

> Song referenced is "The Irish Ballad" by Tom Lehrer


End file.
